The
transcendental then is merely the unknown
No: how whats known isinside out:
no silhouetteno eidos
no idea:
The transcendentals how you knowyoure
facing the mirror

...

Aside
from yourselfthe worldthingsHow it all happenedto cometogether
s beyond you

...

Neither
this nor any mysterys gnawed
The mystics "the tight-lipped"
Tongues quiver locked up

3

Art
is a dead gods tonguewhose wordswe still
like the sound of
"the music of the spheres"
nights white noisethe whole
spectrumof electromagnetic
radiation
visible and audibleonly to
the radio-telescopestimpani
tipped to listen
idle humming
"I-am-I"s sound poem